


look beyond (the stained glass)

by call_me_steve



Series: there's something bigger (bolder) behind the curtain [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: AH - Freeform, Angst, Background Character Death, Gen, Ghosts, Hurt No Comfort, I suppose, Mentions of Cassandra Cain & Damian Wayne, Past Character Death, Tim Drake Angst, Tim Drake Needs a Break, Tim Drake Needs a Hug, Tim Drake Sees Dead People, anyway, bc tim's talking w/ a ghost, i guess?? askglh, i should do smthing abt that huh, if dc won't give it to him neither will i sorry not sorry, love that tag tbh, man i have been MESSING w tim lately haven't i, referenced past murder & spousal abuse too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:06:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27886486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/call_me_steve/pseuds/call_me_steve
Summary: Tim meets a ghost in a hotel room.
Series: there's something bigger (bolder) behind the curtain [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2041915
Comments: 9
Kudos: 58





	look beyond (the stained glass)

**Author's Note:**

> i have. zero clue what the fuck this is. i've been playing crazier things by chelsea culter for the past day and a half on repeat and i've been in a crazy downwards spiral so??? take this :)) 
> 
> tumblr: [potato-reblob](https://potato-reblob.tumblr.com/)

Tim reaches for his headphones and presses the buds into his ears. His laptop is open on his lap, screen bright among a dark, empty room. Not empty, per say- hotel rooms are never exactly empty. There’s ghosts looming in the corners and memories stalking through the halls, glimpses hiding in the bedrooms and images strewn about the floor. No matter where he looks, that’s all Tim can see- a stain of lipstick left on the corner of the bedside table, an empty food wrapper left behind the trash can, a handprint stuck on the window. 

It’s hard to look past all of it. It’s harder to see past the woman in the ruined red dress, holding her head in her hands. 

She was there when Tim walked in. She was there when he double checked the locks. She was there when he set his suitcase on the bed beside her hip. She’s  _ still  _ there, even though Tim’s feet almost touch her back and the sun is creeping back into the sky. The only reason why Tim even  _ remembers _ she’s there is because of the way her shoulders shake with repressed sobs. 

The woman doesn’t make any noise. She hadn’t looked up when Tim made his presence known. Tim’s half-convinced that she can’t see him; can’t hear him. That, of course, isn’t possible. If there’s anyone who can’t be seen or heard, it should be her.  _ Tim, _ after all, is alive. This woman is not. 

She’s not opaque; ghosts never are. Even if they’re just as solid as normal people, even if they  _ look _ like normal people, they’ve got a glassy quality to them, like stained church windows. Sun filters through them and makes them glow, light crawls through the cracks and makes them  _ shine. _ Even if it’s dark in the room, the light from Tim’s computer screen reflects off of her dark forearms and slides straight through her chest. 

He’d noticed, when the lights were still on, that her hair cascaded down her shoulders. It was knotted and messy, as if she’d just yanked it out of a bun or braid. Her dress was rumpled, a perfect colour to match her lips, which peaked out beneath the palms of her hands. In the dark, the red looks almost black. With the rising sun and the blue electronic lighting, it seems like an ugly mix of brown. 

But- right. 

Tim can  _ see _ her, but he’s honestly trying his best not to. That’s why he hasn’t touched her or called for her. That’s why he hasn’t questioned why there’s a woman sitting on his hotel bed; (besides the fact that, if she’d been a real person, Tim’s too tired to talk to her anyway). Dealing with a dead woman is the  _ last _ thing Tim needs to deal with, at the moment. He’s already starting to crash from too-many all nighters chasing down a runaway Gotham villain. 

“The Spook” had driven Tim halfway into the grave over the past week. Tim, as Red Robin, and Cass, as Black Bat, had been on his trail for days now, traveling halfway across the continent- and now the world. Cass was already in Europe hoping to stop her- The Spook- before she crossed into Africa and Tim was due to fly over to Spain tomorrow morning in order to join her. As always, cross-continent chases  _ never _ did Tim’s psyche very well.  _ Especially _ because of the fact that they should’ve been able to stop her way back in Metropolis with Superman. Now the chase is getting to the point where Bruce is thinking of sending someone else up to them. To Tim, that’s nothing less than a big, red stamp on his forehead:  _ Fail. _

He should’ve caught her. He should’ve stopped her. He  _ should’ve- _

And now he’s in a hotel room with a woman in red who’s holding her head in her hands and it’s all the fucking  _ Spook’s _ fault. 

Tim, before this week, hadn’t been  _ able _ to see ghosts. Tim, before this week, had thought that ghosts were those gross, transparent, sickly green things- besides, of course, the few ghosts he actually knew through Bruce. That’s just what movies did to you. 

Then the Spook had touched him. 

The Spook, true to her name, had the power, apparently, to give  _ others _ the ability to see ghosts. She’d already gotten Damian, which was why Nightwing and Robin weren’t on the case- Damian hadn’t dealt with the fallout very well and from what Tim knew, he was still going through it. He’d been screaming about the people he’d killed, the people he’d  _ failed, _ the people he’d lost, in the cave that first night. After that, everyone realized that the Spook was  _ dangerous _ and had to be stopped.

If you were touched, you were  _ supposed _ to be benched. Damian was the only one that Bruce knew had been touched, though. Tim never told him. Tim  _ couldn’t _ tell him. He had a  _ job _ to do. He  _ had _ to find the Spook before she could wreak more havoc. 

And, besides. Tim didn’t  _ have _ ghosts following him. Not like Damian. The only ghosts he’d been seeing, as of late, were the ones lurking among busy crowds. He had no children who he’d failed to save, men he’d ended up killing, or women he’d lost trailing after him. He was functional. He could still  _ work. _

Which was what Tim was doing right now: being functional, waiting for his 8am flight, and working. His plane was to save sleep for the plane. If he could get everything done  _ now, _ then everything could go smoothly. (He couldn’t very well sleep with a woman at the foot of his bed, now could he?)

But-

But, there was a woman crying on his bed. But, there was a  _ dead _ woman crying on his bed. Tim couldn’t sleep because of her and he sure as hell can’t  _ work _ like this. She draws his attention. She pulls him in and she’s all he can think about, along with that lipstick stain that matches her lips and the handprint that matches her  _ hand- _

Tim slaps the laptop shut. 

“Excuse me?” he says, feeling stupid. This should be an empty room. This should be a  _ vacant _ room. Why did he have to get the  _ one _ hotel room with a ghost lurking in it? (He realizes, not for the first time, that he should be wondering how she died. Was it here?) “Miss?”

She turns her head up. Mascara stains her cheeks, leaking down from irritated, puffy, red eyes. If Tim hadn’t been sure if she were crying before, he definitely is now. Tears gleam against her skin, catching in the sunrise and making her seem more ethereal than real. For all of a moment, she stares at Tim and looks him over. Then, she tentatively puts her hands down in her lap and speaks with a strained, choppy voice.

“Were you talking to me?” 

Tim gives a nod. He tries to push himself into his Red Robin mindset, the one he uses to comfort victims. “I’m sorry for ignoring you before. Are you okay?” 

“You’re not dead, are you?” she asks, rather than replying to his question. Tim doesn’t find himself offended- the question was a stupid one, anyways. “You can’t be any older than fifteen.” 

“I’m alive,” Tim tells her. “And I’m seventeen. I’ll be eighteen in the summer.” 

The woman- and Tim realizes, now, that he probably shouldn’t keep referring to her as ‘the woman’- does a double take at that. Her mouth falls open and a strand of hair falls into her face, which she blows away instead of saying whatever it was that she wanted. “I’m not going to ask,” she decided. “I’m- I’m not asking.” 

Tim sets his laptop aside and scoots forward, so he’s sitting beside the woman rather than behind her. “I’m Tim, by the way.” 

“I’m Victoria,” said the woman, with a sniff. She wiped at her mascara and smeared it across her face in a mess of sticky black tears. “God- I’m a fucking mess. I’m sorry. What’s a kid like you doing all the way in Vitória on your own?” 

_ Victoria from Vitória, _ thought Tim, stifling a laugh. “Work related stuff, I guess. What about you?” 

“Honeymoon,” she spits. “Fucking- Eli told me he wanted to go to Vitória because it was close to my name. He dragged me  _ out here _ because he wanted to have a romantic  _ honeymoon- _ But all he wanted was my fucking  _ money.” _

Since he hadn’t actually prompted her to spill her life story, Tim blinks. Then he counts his blessings- if she likes to talk and if she’s  _ willing _ to talk, who’s Tim to deny her? This is, most likely, the last chance she’ll have to talk with someone, seeing as it’s likely that she never left the bed since her death. At least this way he won’t have to ask her about it. If she’d told him to buzz off, he probably would’ve given in. He’s got less than two hours before he should go catch his flight-

But, in all honesty- he  _ shouldn’t _ leave. He shouldn’t be thinking that he  _ can _ or that it’d be okay to walk out on a woman who’s distressed, because if there’s anything he’s learned from being Robin, it’s that you don’t turn your back on the people who need you. (He already feels guilt curl up in his gut since he’d turned it on her earlier. Does it make it better that he’s  _ trying, _ now? Does this fix what he’d done? Even if she’s  _ dead, _ she’s still conscious. In pain. She still has  _ emotions.) _

“I’m not even  _ from _ South America,” she continues, heedless to anything going on in Tim’s head. “I left my family because this dude  _ wanted _ me too, so we got hitched and went on a honeymoon and then-” 

Abruptly, she cuts herself off and drops her head back into her hands. This time, when her body racks with a sob, it’s a loud, noisy thing. It’s almost as if a sound-proof, glass wall has been pushed out of the way, now that Tim’s stopped blocking out her existence. He’s recognized her and now he has to deal with the sounds that follow. 

Even if they’re ugly and heartbreaking and even if they tear at his chest. 

“Can I ask you a question?” Tim asks. 

Victoria nods into her hands. 

“Did he- Was Eli the one who killed you?” 

Again, instead of responding, Victoria nods and then gives an unearthly sob- it shakes the bed and her shoulders. It sounds like the cry came from deep inside and  _ tore _ through layers of bone and muscles, through nerves and skin. 

Tim realizes, very quickly, that she  _ loved _ this man. 

(He also realizes, very quickly, that he wishes he’d never had a run in with the Spook.)

That thought- it’s daunting and all-consuming. Tim’s always been so absorbed into tales of murder and crime that he’s become desensitized to it all- it doesn’t mean it doesn’t weigh on you as hard, but you become cold and sharp and everything slides off like water on a turtle’s back. It’s seeing the victims- seeing them out of the costume when they’re real and vulnerable, when the sunlight hits and the world narrows down and all that exists is you in this bubble of  _ misery. _ Everything becomes all too real in this bubble. 

Sitting here, beside Victoria, forces him to  _ think. _ To realize and to understand. Victoria truly loved this man, this Eli. She fell for him and she was so  _ ready _ to give him her all. And she had- she gave him her money and her heart, her future and her life. Victoria left her home for Eli. 

And what did he do to  _ deserve _ that?  _ Nothing. _

He wants to ask. He feels it bubble up in his throat- a single syllable that feels like it’ll rock the boat and  _ destroy _ it. It’ll throw off the peace and tear it to the ground and Tim doesn’t want that to happen. He just wants to get on his plane. He just wants to go find this  _ fucking Spook _ and  _ forget _ all of this. 

Yet- 

_ Yet- _

_ How _ lingers on his tongue.  _ How did he do it, how did you fall for him, how did he ever think to do this to you, how, how,  _ how- __

It’s simple, though. It’s too simple, and Tim hates himself for not seeing it before. Love is complicated and messy and these things happen every single  _ day. _ People fall in love because others  _ lie. _ People give their all because people  _ demand. _

As for how she died?

Tim takes a deep breath and forces himself to look past the glass. 

Here sits a woman beside him in a blood red dress. Here sits a woman with blood red  _ lips. _ The colour. The stain on the bedside table. It wasn’t ever lipstick _. _ It never had been. It never  _ was.  _

Everything looks different under the sun.

“I’m so sorry,” says Tim.  _ “I’m so sorry.” _

Blood dribbles down her chin and onto her dress. There it splatters, falling onto the rest of the red and disappearing among it. There it shatters, one drop out of a million. She’s no longer crying. Her eyes are hollow and wide when she looks up, her lips are spread into a horrified, gaping ‘o’, her hands hang in the air, palm up, and Tim can’t say another word before the sunlight swallows her whole and she shatters-  _ shatters, _ breaks, splinters- into a million glass shards. 

“I’m so sorry,” Tim says, to an empty room. 

Because that’s how you get rid of ghosts. You learn to understand them. You sympathize and you realize that  _ there’s nothing you can do. _

Eli is probably dead.  _ Victoria _ is dead. 

(Tim is alone in a hotel room and he has a flight in thirty minutes.)

There’s no avenging her. 

(Tim is alone in a hotel room and he has a flight in twenty minutes.)

So many people die like her every single day.

(Tim is alone in a hotel room and he has a flight in fifteen, fourteen, thirteen minutes-

Tim doesn’t have a flight anymore.)

**Author's Note:**

> might write a prologue to this just bc i think the seeing ghosts thing is cool, idk. ppl were talking abt it on my disc server and i deadass went :O!!! bc, hey, why have thoughts when you could have *screams*. otherwise, writing cass seeing ghosts/dames seeing ghosts,,,, hm,,, 
> 
> yes, this is a direct counter to my fluffy "carry me" fic i just posted. :)) have a nice day.


End file.
